


It's a bird! It's a plane! ...Nope, it's Otayuri

by Tolstoyevsky



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Background JJBella, Background Viktuuri - Freeform, Bros to lovers, Chatting & Messaging, Childhood Friends, Fairy Yuri Plisetsky, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, I don't know guys turn and face the strange, Implied Sexual Content, Knight Otabek Altin, M/M, Meanwhile Viktor is growing out his hair again and has started a trend, OtaYuri Week, OtaYuri Week 2017, Otabek deals with his feels, Pining, Social Media, Why are all of the chapter titles song names?, falling in love at a coffeeshop, otayuri - Freeform, pair skating, rarepairsonice, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tolstoyevsky/pseuds/Tolstoyevsky
Summary: Oneshots. 1-7 forOtayuri Week 2017. Chapter 8 and on are requests or other short stories I wanted to write.1: First Date. (T) || Otabek Altin no longer wants to be Yuri Plisetsky's bro. Written for day 1 ofYuri!!! On Ice Rarepair Week.2: Social Media. (G) || In which Beka avoids the internet, and Yuri's Instagram presence is enough for the both of them.3: Childhood. (G) || Otabek did not expect to do ballet at skating camp. He also didn't expect to make an unlikely friend.4: Domestic/Intimacy. (M) || They're both tired of getting dressed in the dark.5: Encouragement. (T) || In which Yuri texts Beka "davai" for an upcoming event and receives far too many emojis in return.6: Pair skating. (G) || Yuri realizes, while skating beside Otabek, that what he really wants is to skate with him.7: Fantasy. (T) || The Hero of Kazakhstan meets the Fae King from Rossiya at a Midsummer's Eve festival.8: First Kiss. (G). || Yuri and Otabek aren't dating, but everyone thinks they are.





	1. Want Your (B)romance

_All right, Otabek, deep breath,_ he told himself, hands gripping the edge of the sink. He was standing in the men’s bathroom of a little café where he and Yuri liked to get lunch whenever Otabek visited St. Petersburg, and he’d been standing there for the past fifteen minutes. A few people had already banged on the door in frustration. And if he didn’t hurry up, then Yuri himself would come looking for him – or order something suspicious off the menu for both of them, and that was the last thing he wanted. 

_Just practice in front of the mirror, like you’re getting ready for a press conference._ He tried to imagine Yuri’s face staring back at him from the other side of the glass. Wide green eyes, blond hair falling around his face, the corners of his mouth already curling up into a smile–  


“I am not your bro,” he said, slowly and cautiously. “I am not your bro.”  


_That’s it, Otabek. Tell him._  


He heaved a sigh as he pushed open the door. A man with a handlebar mustache brushed past him with an angry mutter. Otabek rushed up the stairs two at a time, sidestepped a waiter, and slid back into his chair at the table he was sharing with Yuri.  


“Holy crap, bro, what took so long? Did you get attacked by a reporter or something?”  


“I just needed some time to myself.”  


Yuri’s gaze sharpened. He could already tell something was wrong. Otabek looked away; that intuition was one of the things he loved about Yuri, but he didn’t need it used on him now.  


“…Okay?”  


“I’m fine, though.”  


“Okay,” Yuri repeated, unconvinced.  


Silence settled across the table.  


“Do you want to hear what dumb thing Viktor did at the rink last week?”  


“Sure,” Otabek said, when what he really wanted was to tell Yuri that–  


But it was too late. The other skater had launched into a rant about Viktor Nikiforov, world-class figure skater, deciding to grow out his hair again, and how that had prompted everyone else skating at the rink to do the same.  


“Now Mila wants long hair. So does Yuuri Katsuki, because apparently lovers do _everything_ together. Even Georgi has decided to grow out his hair! Meanwhile, I’m standing there listening to all of this and thinking, what the hell? It’s weird, bro. How does Viktor have this kind of influence–“  


“I’m not your bro,” Otabek blurted out, and – whoa, where had that come from? It surprised even him. Otabek could feel his cheeks heating up; he might as well have thrown all his cool collectedness into a furnace.  


That was nothing compared to the look on Yuri’s face. His smile had fallen away; his upper lip trembled; and his brows were furrowed like angry caterpillars, inching toward each other.  


“…Beka?”  


Fuck. _Abort,_ his inner monologue hissed. _Abort like Georgi Popovich after the Cup of China._  


“Uh – by which I mean that I… I don’t want to be your bro.”  


Yuri’s expression hovered somewhere between anger and confusion.  


_Abort, abort–_  


“I mean, I like you, but not really as a bro. N-not that I’m implying that I think of you as a brother! I mean, not as a friend–“  


_God_ damn _it, Otabek, abort-_  


“You like me.”  


His train of thought screeched to a halt. Yuri was watching him in a way that Otabek had only before seen in fragments – with a soft smile, crinkly eyes, and a patience that almost hid his constant curiosity.  


“…Yes.”  


“That’s why you don’t want me to call you ‘bro.’”  


“Yeah,” he mumbled, glancing down.  


“Okay,” Yuri whispered, and it made him wince. “No more Brotabek Altin, then.”  


“Yura, I didn’t mean to–“  


He shot out a hand, almost hitting Otabek in the face.  


“Shh,” Yuri hissed, before clearing his throat. “...Will you be my Otabae?”


	2. Pictures of You

“I don’t get it,” Yuri said, leaning over the back of the couch in their living room. “Why don’t you use your Instagram? You don't have many photos on there, only some promotional ones." 

Otabek closed the book he was reading and turned to face him. 

“Because I’m not good at photography. And I’m not just going to slap a filter onto some badly taken picture, pretend it looks good, and upload it to the internet.” 

“That’s not even the point of the app,” Yuri said, scoffing. 

“Oh? Enlighten me, then.” 

Yuri cleared his throat. 

“The point is to post epic selfies that are better than everyone else’s. Once JJ uploaded a photo of himself holding up a Canadian flag, so I uploaded a photo of myself with a Russian flag blowing in the wind, and it looked way cooler. My photo got at least 2000 more likes than his.” 

“That’s… So pointless.” 

“No, it’s not!” Yuri exclaimed. “It’s fun; it’s like a skating competition. Except instead of trying to get the highest score, you’re trying to get the coolest picture. Y’know, out-selfie the other guy.” 

“I look like a platypus in all my selfies,” Otabek observed. 

Yuri chuckled and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “No, you don’t, babe.” 

Tipping his head back, Otabek caught Yuri’s lips in a kiss. They casually rested their foreheads together, falling quiet. 

“What do Viktor and other-Yuuri post?” Otabek asked eventually, careful to draw a distinction between Yuuri Katsuki and his Yuri. 

“Mostly pictures of food or their dog.” 

“Food?” 

“Yeah. Did you hear? Viktor cooks now. Or tries to, at least. He’s too busy taking photos in the kitchen to pay attention to the actual cooking. Here, I’ll show you.” 

Yuri whipped out his phone, opened Instagram, and scrolled down to an image of Viktor’s latest attempt at French cuisine: a cheese soufflé. 

“Looks pretty good,” Beka murmured, unconsciously licking his lips. 

“It’s like he thinks he’s Julia Child or something.” 

Yuri scrolled down a little more and found an image from other-Yuuri’s instagram of Viktor holding a birthday cake while their poodle sat at his feet, wagging his tail. The photo was captioned, “Vitya made a birthday cake for Makkachin!” 

“Ugh, someone get me a Pepto-Bismol before I gag.” 

“Come on,” Otabek protested. “It’s cute.” 

But Yuri had already left the photo behind, looking through the rest of his feed. 

“Oh, shit.” 

“What?” 

“JJ posted a photo with Isabella. We have to take a photo, too.” 

“Why?” asked Beka. 

“Because that’s just what you do!” 

“Never a good reason.” 

“And because JJ and I are low-key competing for the title of best instagrammer, so we’ve gotta take a better selfie.” 

_Low-key?_ Otabek thought. “Also a questionable reason. You’re like the human embodiment of that song by the Chainsmokers–“ 

“Because I want a picture with you,” Yuri mumbled. 

“…All right, go ahead,” Otabek said quietly. 

Yuri raised his phone, positioning himself and Otabek in front of the little camera. “Count of three. One… Two, thr–“ 

Otabek leaned over. The camera flashed, capturing an image of Yuri with a stunned expression, lips parted as a startled noise escaped him – and Otabek in profile, pressing a kiss to Yuri’s cheek. 

“I like that one. Send it to me.” 

“…Beka,” He whined. 

“What?” 

“Can I post this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two kinds of people on social media... ~~And then there's the Viktuuri Dream Team~~
> 
> The song Otabek mentions is [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdemFfbS5H0), which I totally didn't realize was by The Chainsmokers until a few days ago.
> 
> Thanks for reading ^^


	3. Hello Mother, Hello Father, Here I Am at Figure Skating Camp

_That’s it,_ Otabek thought, after his first week at summer camp. _I’m going back to Kazakhstan._

Never mind that he was in Russia, almost 4,000 kilometers away from home, in an acclaimed program for young skaters, and under the supervision of a team of internationally renowned coaches. It was all bunk. Otabek’s parents had sent him to Yakov Grigorievich’s summer camp in St. Petersburg to improve his skating skills – but so far, all they’d done was ballet. And Otabek sucked at it. 

He didn’t see what dance had to do with skating, anyway. Sure, there was the flexibility component, but that wouldn’t be worth much if Otabek sprained both his ankles from trying to do pliés and jetés all day. The thought wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, which terrified him. 

Even worse, the ballet teacher that Yakov Grigorievich had hired was the scariest woman Otabek had ever met. Her name was Lilia Fyodorovna Baranovskaya, and she was the former prima ballerina of the Bolshoi Ballet. That fact alone was enough pressure for Otabek, but the woman was frightening in her own right, with a sharp chin, jet-black hair that she kept in a tightly-coiled bun, and fierce green eyes. She kept them trained on Otabek throughout practice, like she was waiting for him to mess up. Whenever he did a step wrong or caught his breath, she was on him, telling him to keep going. Maybe she had eyes in the back of her head, too. 

In a way, it wasn’t surprising. Otabek was old enough to qualify for the junior class at Yakov’s camp, but he couldn’t keep up with the Russian skaters in his age group, so he was put with the novices. Lilia Fyodorovna must have felt that he’d missed out on years of dance, back in Kazakhstan. _Do all Russian skaters train in ballet?_ Otabek wondered. 

From what he had seen so far, he could have believed it. There was a kid in his class – Otabek didn’t know his name – whose skill was the scariest thing of all. He was a small, blond-haired boy who went through all the steps that Lilia Fyodorovna taught them without complaint. While Otabek scrambled to get his feet in position for a chassé, this boy glided back and forth across the room like a wind-up doll. Otabek could only stare on in wonder. Maybe he was a little jealous of the boy, too; compared to someone like that, what was Otabek even doing in the class? Once Lilia had dismissed them for the afternoon, Otabek grabbed his duffel bag from the locker rooms without changing and headed toward the stairs. As soon as he got back to the dorm where he was staying, he would call his parents and convince them to let him return to Kazakhstan. He could still practice skating at his home rink, with his coach, Aslanov– 

Otabek stilled. The boy from his class was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, hugging his knees. He wore a colorful jacket with a fur hood and a red scarf that hung loosely around his shoulders. It looked like he was about to head back for the day, but Otabek didn’t want to disturb him. He pretended to stretch his legs as he watched the other. After a few minutes, it didn’t seem like the boy was leaving. Carefully, Otabek sat down at the top of the stairs. His knees gave a loud _crack_ as he bent down. 

It did not take long for the boy to turn his head after that. 

“You’re not doing your squats right.” 

Otabek flinched. He hadn’t expected the other to have such a deep voice. Otabek’s thirteenth birthday was coming up, and his own voice hadn’t started to change yet. This kid was what, a few years younger? 

“Oh,” he said lamely. 

“Yeah. That’s why your joints pop. You should bend your knees at a ninety-degree angle, but don’t let them move past your toes.” 

He smiled. “Thanks.” 

“Sure,” the boy said, before turning back around. 

Otabek hesitated. Was the… conversation over? He stood up, sucked in a sharp breath, and went to sit on the bottom step of the stairs. 

“What’s your name?” 

The boy glanced over at him. Otabek was startled by just how green his eyes were – and how sharp, up close. They were scary, like Lilia Fyodorovna's. 

“Yuri. What about you?” 

“I’m Otabek.” 

Yuri raised a brow, appraising him. 

“That’s kind of a cool name.” 

Otabek felt his cheeks redden. No one had ever told him his name was cool before. Except for his parents, but that didn’t count, coming from the people that had named him. 

“…You think so?” He asked. 

Yuri gave a murmur of approval. “I don’t know any other Otabeks.” 

“Well, it’s an Uzbek name. My mom is from Tashkent.” 

“Is that where you live?” 

He shook his head. “In Kazakhstan. Almaty. Do you live here?” 

“No, in Moscow,” Yuri said. His expression darkened to an almost embattled look. “But my grandpa said that if I want to become the best skater in the world, then I’ve got to find a coach.” 

Otabek blinked. _Best skater?_ This kid was thinking far ahead. Besides, what if _he_ wanted to be the best skater? 

“So do you want to train with Yakov–” 

Yuri let out a loud groan. “Let’s not talk about him.” 

“What’s the matter?” Otabek asked. Yuri just frowned and tugged his scarf over his head. He looked like a _matryoshka,_ hastily painted and with a wonky expression, the last in a large set of nesting dolls. 

“Yakov Grigorievich and I are not on speaking terms.” 

“Why?” 

“He won’t let me do quads.” 

“Maybe ‘cause you shouldn’t be doing them,” Otabek said, raising a brow. “Aren’t you, like, nine?” 

“I’m ten!” Yuri shouted, outraged. 

“My coach said I couldn’t start practicing quads until I’m fifteen.” 

The other boy snorted. “You’ve got a long way to go.” 

“What do you mean? I’m almost thirteen.” 

“Wow, so adult,” Yuri deadpanned, but he was smirking. “Why aren’t you in the junior class?” 

“I couldn’t keep up,” Otabek murmured. He could feel himself start to blush again as the boy looked him over, not saying anything. Yuri probably thought he was a loser. 

“You should practice with me. Then you’d be able to.” 

Otabek’s eyes widened. 

“What?” 

In spite of himself, he started to laugh. 

“You’re not what I expected.” 

“…You’re so weird,” Yuri muttered, resting his chin in his hands. He chanced a glance at Otabek, a small smile playing across his face. “Want to be friends?” 

Otabek gave him a thumbs up, and Yuri’s smile widened. 

_Okay,_ so maybe he’d give summer camp another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was so much fun.
> 
> Beka uses Yakov's and Lilia's patronyms as a form of polite address. I made them up, since neither has a patronym in the show.
> 
> "Otabek" is an Uzbek name, which is why I said his mom is from there :) The Kazakh equivalent is "Atabek." ~~And now I'm just imagining Yuri standing on the sidelines during Beka's performances, yelling, "Attaboy, Altin!"~~


	4. Dance in the Dark

_The worst part of it all,_ he thought, _is getting dressed in the dark._

Otabek didn’t know how he and Yuri had gotten into this routine. The summer of his twenty-second birthday, Otabek had moved to St. Petersburg to train with Yakov. For a while, nothing had happened between him and his best friend. But he’d kissed Yuri after practice one day, _just_ kissed, because he thought that if he didn’t try, then it might never happen. A few days later, they’d ended up in bed together. It happened at Otabek’s apartment, after a long day of practice in which he’d finally managed to land a quadruple flip. Yuri pressed him up against the kitchen door, telling him how _incredible_ he’d looked, and they’d barely managed to make it to the bedroom. The sex was messy and desperate, and when it was over, Yuri had left. 

And Otabek could have pretended to forget about it, if it hadn’t become a _thing_. He didn’t know how to define this new aspect of their relationship. It seemed that sex was something they did now. So was not talking about it. 

It was late, Otabek realized, as he glanced over at the digital clock on Yuri’s nightstand. He zipped up his coat by the light of his phone’s lockscreen, trying not to make much noise. He shouldn’t have stayed so long. 

“…Beka? Where’re you going?” 

Otabek's heart did a quad flip in his chest. He glanced over his shoulder, not quite meeting Yuri’s eyes. “Out for a smoke.” 

“You don’t smoke,” Yuri said, blinking in the half-light, his voice thick with sleep. 

“It was a joke." 

But Yuri didn’t laugh this time, not even dismissively, and Otabek could tell that he was upset. Something resembling worry creased his brow. Maybe it was worry. Beka stuffed his hands into his pockets before turning back around to face him. 

“Are you leaving?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Yuri said slowly. 

“I was going to head back to my apartment. Since we have practice tomorrow. I should try to get in a few more hours of sleep.” 

Yuri’s frown lines deepened. 

“It’s three in the morning.” 

“I know. I’m sorry for waking you up.” 

“No, I mean–“ Yuri gave a disbelieving laugh, and this time Otabek felt like he was on the receiving end of a bad joke. “You should stay.” 

“Y-yeah, I guess it is too late for me to be walking around–“ 

“That’s not what I mean,” Yuri interrupted, a little too quickly. “Come back to bed, Beka. I’ll make breakfast and provide early-morning blowjobs.” 

Otabek shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he couldn’t dislodge the sudden numbness in his legs. 

“You don’t want me to leave?” 

“No.” Yuri’s voice dropped to a low murmur, a tone he only ever used when he was frustrated. Otabek recognized it immediately, and it sparked an irrational anger in him. Was it supposed to be obvious what Yuri was thinking? 

“I mean, isn’t that what we usually do? Fuck at your place or mine, and then one of us leaves, whichever one of us–“ He cut himself off, not wanting to hear himself say it. Doesn’t belong there. 

“No,” Yuri said again, more adamant this time. 

“No, _what_?” 

Yuri’s face fell. 

“I’m not trying to upset you; I just don’t understand–“ 

“I made a mistake." 

“What are you talking about?” 

Yuri reached over and flicked on the bedside lamp. Then he sat up a little, hair falling around his face in a messy halo. The sight of him alone was enough to push Otabek a few steps forward, back toward the bed. He told himself it was out of concern – not because Yuri was so beautiful that he made Otabek lose his reason. 

“I shouldn’t have left, the first time we–“ Yuri pursed his lips. “I didn’t want to leave. I was scared you wouldn’t want me to spend the night.” 

The look on Otabek’s face must have startled Yuri, because his speech turned rapid-fire, almost frantic. 

“Don’t look at me that way! I’ve never- done this – this _thing_ – with anyone but you. I didn’t even know if it would happen again, because – God, Beka, you’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you.” His eyes were wide and blurrier than usual. “I knew the very next time that I’d messed up, when you left. I never meant for us to fall into a pattern of – I mean, I want you to – to–” 

“To what?” 

Otabek found himself sitting by the bed as Yuri fell silent. He didn’t even know how he’d gotten there, except that Yuri had somehow pulled him in, unconsciously. His gaze rested on the curve of Yuri’s cheek, softened by the lamplight. 

“Stay." 

That was when Otabek reached for him. 

“I love you, Yura. You’re my best friend, too. I don’t want that to end. I like going for bike rides, and complaining about politics, and watching silly cat videos. I like all of those things we do. I just want to be able to love you, too.” 

A pair of arms slowly curled around his waist. Yuri held on to him shakily, hands resting against the small of his back. 

"I'm sorry–" 

“Is that what you meant?” 

He nodded into Otabek’s shoulder. 

“Yes." 

“Why don’t we cook breakfast together tomorrow?” Otabek suggested. “You can show me how to make pirozhki. And if you’re in the mood, then I’ll take care of you this time.” 

A laugh echoed softly throughout the room. 

“Beka, you dork.” 

“Is that okay?” Otabek tilted his head to look at Yuri. There was no teasing edge to his voice, but something caught halfway between tension and relief, trying to find a place to settle. 

“More than okay,” Yuri breathed. "I love you, too." 

That was the last time either of them got dressed in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys, stop using the word "thing." We're all adults here
> 
> Domestic/intimacy, I guess, guys? I have no idea what I was doing with this prompt. I just knew that I wouldn't be able to write about them cooking together without feeling hungry XD Hope you enjoyed the angsty fluff <3


	5. Say It, Just Say It

**[Ice Tiger]**  
So, Beka. 

**[From: Beka]**  
Good morning, Yuri  <3 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
Skate America is coming up, right? 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Aren’t you going to wish me good morning, too? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
It’s the afternoon where you are. 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
T_T 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
You’ve become an emoji monster 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
You’re the one who showed me how to use them all. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
…Fair  
Good morning, Beka  <3 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
:)  
What were you saying about Skate America? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
That it’s next week 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Yes, on Tuesday. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
And we’re both competing, right?  
I know I’ll see you before then, but I wanted to say davai 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Thank you, Yura. Good luck to you, too. I am sure you will do brilliantly, as always. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
You flatterer 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Just being honest. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
So are you gonna davai me? 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
What? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
You know. Give me a davai. 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Is that a euphemism? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
BEKA  
NO 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Beka, yes ;) 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
Nonono that isn’t what I meant for once  
You have to wish me a davai back!  
Like, type “davai”  
And send it to me 

**[To: Otabek Altin]**  
Didn’t I already wish you good luck? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
beKA 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Ooh, partial capitalization. Things are getting serious. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
Will you do it? 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
Why “davai” specifically, though? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
Because it’s our thing!  
I mean, we always wish each other davai before a competition 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
That's true. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
It encourages me, you know? Having you cheer me on, and being able to do the same 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
I get it now. That’s very sweet.  
Davai  <3 <3 <3  
Was that right? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
Are you making fun of me? 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
No! :O 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
Because if so then I swear to god Beka, I will davai you into next Tuesday 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
;D ;D ;D 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
That is the worst emoji of all 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
It’s my favorite. I almost never make that face in real life, so why not use it now? 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
I don't know how someone *can* make it in real life  
How do you wink and grin without looking creepy??  
It's worse than Viktor's "seductive smile" 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
But it's perfect for texting! ;D 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
You’re lucky I love you. 

**[From: Otabek Altin]**  
I am very lucky. 

**[Ice Tiger]**  
<3 :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otabek's pastime is using emojis ~~un~~ ironically while texting
> 
> Chapter title credit to _The Mowgli's_. One of my favorite Otayuri songs by them [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRn8Sl6-sRo).
> 
> Happy Friday, y'all!


	6. Shall We Skate?

_Otabek brought his skates,_ Yuri reminded himself. _His own pair, from home. That means he wants to skate together, even if he’s only visiting for a short time. He waited the whole day to join me on the ice._ Yuri was exhausted and still letting off steam from Yakov’s latest tirade against him, but he told himself it was worth it. _Otabek wants to skate with me._ If that thought didn’t get him through this double axel, then nothing would. 

There was also the fact that Otabek was right there beside him, gliding serenely, a reminder of what Yuri could have been doing instead of correcting his form, as Yakov had told him to do on his own time– 

Yuri cursed as he came out of his axel early again. 

“Take it easy, Yura.” 

“How can I take it easy when Yakov breathes down my neck every five minutes about under-rotating my axels?” 

“Don’t let that intimidate you. Aslanov says skating is about confidence. You know you can do the jump, so you don’t need to freak out just because Yakov is aggressive with his advice.” 

Yuri huffed. “I’ve never liked doing the axel. Yakov knows that; he’s trying to toughen me up.” 

“Well, it’s obviously not working.” Otabek crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “Why don’t you try again? He isn’t here to watch you.” 

Yuri raised a brow. _But you are, _he thought.__

“I’m good at axels,” Otabek said, as if he’d been reading Yuri’s mind. “I can look at your takeoff and try to help you improve it.” 

“Okay.” Yuri skated a few meters away to give himself more space, then took off into another double axel. It was under-rotated by about half a turn. 

Otabek skated over to him. 

“What is it,” Yuri said flatly. 

“You’re twisting your upper body too much,” he murmured. “Stand up a little straighter–“ he pulled Yuri’s shoulders back, until his back was pressed to Otabek’s chest. “And keep your core engaged.” 

Yuri took a deep breath. 

“From the diaphragm, Yura.” 

“This isn’t a singing lesson,” he said warily. 

Otabek’s fingers brushed against Yuri’s sides, a half-whispered question. 

“Can I-?” He asked belatedly. 

“Yeah,” he said, and Otabek’s hands were on his ribcage. 

“Okay, breathe now.” 

Yuri did. 

“Can you feel your sides expanding?” 

“The hell does that mean? I’m not the Incredible Hulk.” 

Otabek sighed and spun him around in a single, fluid motion. Yuri’s eyes went wide as he found himself facing the other way. Reaching for Yuri’s hands, Otabek placed them above his waist. Then he breathed in, and – _oh _. Yuri understood. His lower ribs really were expanding.__

So was the stupid smile on Yuri’s face. 

“Okay, I think I can do that,” he said, grinning. 

“Don’t breathe during the jump, though,” Otabek added. “Do it as you’re taking off, then hold it.” He demonstrated, his eyes closing in mid-breath. 

Yuri inhaled shakily. His fingers rested in the hollows between Otabek’s ribs with ease. 

“Not like that,” Otabek chided. 

Yuri let go of him. 

“That wasn’t an attempt at doing your weird breathing exercise,” he said. “I’m going to try the axel again now.” 

Otabek nodded, and Yuri skated off. He did a quarter-lap around the rink, to gain momentum. He wasn’t even thinking about the mechanisms of the axel itself, but the way Otabek’s chest pushed outward against his touch. _Shoulders back, breathe in–_

He held it– 

–And landed the axel. 

“That was perfect!” Otabek shouted. “You didn’t over-rotate at all!” 

Yuri looked back at him, laughing. They’d ended up on opposite sides of the ice, but he could clearly see Otabek’s smile from where he stood. As Yuri started skating toward him, Otabek did the same. They moved in tandem, Yuri’s speed matching Otabek’s strides, and met in the center of the rink. 

“Thanks! That really helped.” 

Otabek gave him a thumbs-up. 

“Now Yakov will finally leave me alone and start bothering Viktor again.” 

“We can only hope, Yuratchka.” 

He stilled, then pointed to himself. “Yuratchka, me?” 

“Who else?” 

“You’ve never called me that before.” 

“Should I have gone with Yurio?” Otabek asked, his lips curling upward into a grin. 

“You know better than that,” Yuri muttered, but his tone was fond. It couldn’t be anything else, with Otabek. He found himself reaching for his friend’s hand, placing it above his waist. “You brought your skates all this way. It would be a shame if you didn’t really use them.” 

An unspoken question alighted in Otabek’s eyes, and this time, Yuri met him there. He was starting to understand that all their conversations, whether from a distance or nearby, were a pair skate, bringing them closer to each other. 

“Skate with me, Beka.”


	7. Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otayuri Week has been so much fun to participate in; all the writing and art that's come out of it is awesome. Huge thank you to the organizers – and to y'all, for reading these oneshots. :)
> 
> Without further ado, a meeting between the Fae King of Rossiya and the Hero of Kazakhstan.

The court of the Fae King was lively indeed. 

Otabek had heard rumors about the celebrations that took place among the fairy-folk, so when he was invited to the Midsummer’s Eve festival, he did not hesitate. He hadn’t expected to receive an invitation to the court, being human; the Fae were reclusive, and they did not interact with humans more than necessary. But perhaps Otabek’s reputation as the Hero of Kazakhstan had intrigued the Fae, whose communities were scattered across the East. They, too, had rejoiced when the Kazakh army, led by Otabek, drove the French invaders out of his homeland and neighboring Rossiya. 

Whatever the reason, he did not regret accepting the invitation. Otabek had never participated in such merrymaking, not even among the troops after a long campaign. People were guzzling down drinks he had never seen before: fizzy ones that bubbled, green like absinthe; still ones clearer than the light in a lover’s eyes. And there was plenty of _that_ , too – coy glances exchanged from across a crowded tent; kisses stolen and returned under the boughs of the willows; couples slipping away into the forest, guided by the warmth of each others’ hands and the moon that cast a soft glow over the tops of the trees, as if to say, _You are welcome here, you are free to love, go on._

And oh, how the Fae danced. No human had such skill – at least, no one Otabek knew. Even the trees were alive with the soaring music and the swaying of the wind. It did not take long for Otabek to join in the dance, though he wasn’t very good. Still, the fairies fussed over him, pranced with him, invited him to the waltz, allowed him to lead. He knew they could tell he was human, from the smiles on their faces as they slowed their pace to his, allowed him to dip them to the floor. They were far stronger and had more stamina than he, and could easily have danced the soles of his shoes straight through. But they took it easy with him. Humans were fragile creatures, compared to the Fae. And although Otabek did not think of himself as fragile, he was still grateful for the care with which they handled him. 

When a young fairy asked him to slow-dance, he did not read the sympathy in her eyes with anger. Otabek merely bowed, placed his hand on her waist, and fell back in step with the music. 

“Mind if I cut in?” Someone asked, halfway through the dance. Otabek recognized that voice – it belonged to the Fae King, who had opened the celebrations earlier that evening. His golden hair and absinthe-green eyes were impossible to forget. Although the Fae King looked too youthful to rule, he was in fact older than Otabek in years. He inclined his head before the fairy that Otabek had been dancing with; she bowed obligingly. Otabek looked on, stunned, as the Fae King turned to him and held out his hand. 

“May I have the honor?” 

Otabek nodded, unsure of what to do. He reached for the Fae King’s hand, but found it already on his waist. His dance partner chuckled and guided Otabek’s arms with his free hand, until they were resting on his shoulders. 

“Try to keep up.” He grinned, and Otabek understood then that this man would not let him lead. Already, the Fae King was moving, hips swaying to the gentle rhythm of the music, inviting Otabek to follow him. 

He obliged. 

“I haven’t seen you rest since the festival began,” the King said. “I hope my people are not giving you a hard time.” He used the Russkiy word for “people,” speaking in a language familiar to Otabek. 

“No, your Majesty,” he said quickly. “Quite the opposite, actually.” Otabek chanced a good-hearted chuckle as the King raised a brow, looking deliberative. 

“They’re going easy on you? Well, that’s not good, either.” 

“It looks like you’ll have to rectify that.” 

“I was wondering if you’d have saved a dance for me by the end of the night.” 

Otabek cleared his throat, looking down at the Fae. 

“I would not have thought you held an interest in–“ 

“Watch out,” the Fae King murmured, pulling Otabek close as he sidestepped a drunken fairy that had wandered onto the dance floor. “Keep your bearings, Khristofór,” the King said coldly. 

“M-my lord.” The man hiccupped, managing a bow that awkwardly showed off his undergarments. The Fae King rolled his eyes. 

“Where were we?” He asked, as the fairy stumbled off. His hand was still pressed flat against the small of Otabek’s back, his presence so close that Otabek could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. He smells like pinewood and strawberry, Otabek thought suddenly. His heart was pounding; all the blood seemed to have rushed to his legs, as though he were suddenly faced with a great foe. But this felt nothing like a battle. “Oh, right. My interest in you.” 

Otabek’s knees, damn it all, quivered. 

“Are you afraid of me, Otabek?” The king asked with a smile that looked almost nervous, but Otabek knew better. 

“No, your majesty. I am simply considering the ways in which we might be alike.” 

“What makes you think we are?” 

“You have the eyes of a soldier.” 

The Fae King faltered in his step. It barely lasted a moment, but Otabek registered the surprise that flashed across his face. 

“A soldier? Me? The Fae have not fought in any wars for a century.” 

“That we humans should be so lucky.” 

“And I have never wielded a bow and arrow, except for sport. Those were our weapons of yore.” 

“But you must have fought hard to become king. I have heard that the Fae elect their rulers.” 

He gave a genuine smile, at that. “You seem to know much about our ways. Where did you learn all this?” 

“During my military training. It was not unforeseen that we would cross paths with Fae travelers during our campaigns. We were taught how to behave, what to say, what not to say…” 

“Diplomacy.” The Fae King chuckled. 

“Right.” 

“And you?” His eyes glistened. “I know about humankind as a whole, but it’s individuals that fascinate me. Stories of your heroism have traveled even among the Fae. That you led the charge against the French invaders.” 

“It’s my duty to protect the people who live peacefully within this country. Many of my comrades-in-arms would have done the same.” 

“Regardless, you were the one who did.” 

Otabek shrugged, his cheeks pinkening like one of the color-changing drinks he’d seen the fairies indulging in. 

“I-I’m still trying to find my path to heroism,” he stammered. 

“Hm. Any family?” 

“My parents and my sister, Samira.” 

“They are proud of you?” 

“My mother never wanted me to join the army,” Otabek said, shaking his head ruefully. “She thought I should become a priest.” 

The Fae King narrowed his eyes. “Somehow, I don’t think that would have suited you.” 

“No. But my mother doesn’t fault me for it. She is… Appreciative.” 

The King lingered on his words for a while, seeming to contemplate them. 

“You know, the French were the ones who named us the Fae, long ago, when they first invaded our lands. We drove them out after many years of suffering. We have kept the name for convenience in dealing with humans, but it is a symbol of oppression to us. It reminds us to be careful when we interact with your kind.” 

“My people have no intention of–“ 

He waved Otabek's words away, shaking his head. “What I meant to say is that I should thank you. For continuing to keep us safe. After all, we, too, live off this land. We are also its people.” 

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” 

“Yuri. That’s my name.” 

Otabek smiled in surprise. 

“I know.” 

“I suppose I should confess something to you,” the Fae King said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. My grandfather, our High Priest, organized this celebration partially in the hope that it would help me find a wife. But I have no intention of doing that,” he added firmly. 

Otabek stilled. The music suddenly switched to a rowdy tune that reminded him of a drinking song from taverns visited long ago, but he was frozen in place. 

“Tell me, what do you think?” 

“I-I don’t know what to say. I’m no priest.” 

The Fae King blinked, then tipped his head back and laughed. Otabek found that he liked the sound of that laugh. 

“Will you walk with me, Hero of Kazakhstan?” 

Otabek held out his hand to Yuri, and they quietly left the dance floor, walking together toward the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Enrigue Iglesias whisper* _Let me be your hero_
> 
> “The French” because Otabek got robbed by JJ ~~and Quebec is on another landmass, so "the Canadians" wouldn’t have made sense~~


	8. First Kiss

They’re not dating, exactly, though everyone thinks they are. Ever since Otabek Altin moved to St. Petersburg to train under Yakov, he and Yuri Plisetsky have spent all their free time together. To Yuri’s rinkmates, they’ve become a single person. They don’t get invited to events separately anymore, because it’s assumed that if Yuri comes, then Otabek will show up too, and vice-versa. Of course, anyone and their grandfather can tell that Yuri and Otabek like each other. So why aren’t they dating? 

Yuri has asked himself this question an annoying number of times. One reason is that, for all his bravado, Yuri is a coward when it comes to love. He’s shy and awkward, and he worries that Otabek will reject him. Another reason is that Yuri doesn’t intend to make the first move. He wants Otabek to come to him, because… Oh, who is he kidding? The first reason still applies. Yuri knows his own vulnerabilities, and he’s terrified that Otabek will expose them with a single word: “No.” 

Is he angry with himself? Sure. Viktor and Katsuki have tried giving Yuri advice, but like a fool, he doesn’t take it. 

“What’s the worst that can happen?” They ask him. “That you have to move on?” 

Yuri rolls his eyes, thinking of how upset Viktor or Katsuki would have been if they hadn’t ended up together. But the sappy lovebirds have a point: if Yuri doesn’t try at all, then it’s a guarantee that nothing will happen. 

_I’m better than this_ , he tells himself. Every day after practice, when it’s just him and Otabek packing up their skates, he repeats the words. When they’re sharing headphones and listening to Otabek’s EDM playlist. When they’re eating the _katsudon_ pirozhki that Yuri’s grandpa makes. I’m better than this. He says the phrase over and over, always in his head. 

Until he doesn’t. 

“Better than what?” 

They’re sitting on the bench at the edge of the rink. It isn’t a formal training session; Yuri had wanted to work on his quads, and Otabek tagged along to run through his short program for next season. Now, all thoughts of skating have fled from Yuri’s mind. He stares back at Otabek, silent. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Y-yeah,” he manages to say. “I was talking to myself. Sorry.” 

Otabek shrugs in that calm way that usually dispels Yuri’s nerves. 

“If you’re sure. I wanted to check. You’ve been acting kind of weird lately.” 

Yuri freezes up again. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just… Anxious. I don’t know; I can tell by the look in your eyes. You aren’t usually this antsy.” 

_Ha_ , Yuri thinks. _If only you knew_. 

“Look, I’m fine, Beka.” He dismisses Otabek’s words with a wave of his hand. Yuri is better than this – because he isn’t here to pour his heart out like Viktor, or trip over his own words like Katsuki. That’s not the kind of person he is, and he won’t let a crush get in the way of achieving his goals. “Let’s just skate.” 

Otabek doesn’t answer immediately, and he doesn’t get up. If anything, he looks more concerned. 

“If you need to talk about something… I’m here. You know that, right? I’m always gonna be here.” 

Yuri turns on his heel, looking back at Otabek with a furious glance. He can’t just _say_ things like that– 

With a few steps, Yuri closes the space between them. He reaches up, practically pulls Otabek down with the way he wraps an arm around his neck, and kisses him. 

_Screw it_. 

It’s a short kiss. Otabek doesn’t lean into it, but he doesn’t pull away, either. Instead, it’s Yuri who backs off, still glaring up at Otabek as he feels his face turn red. He doesn’t have to say anything; he just needs to wait for the rejection– 

“You know I love you, right?” 

Yuri blinks. He realizes that Otabek is smiling, watching him with an expression that is not only patient, but fond. Eventually, Yuri starts to nod. His anger falls away, piece by piece, in slow motion. 

“I do now.” 

Otabek laughs and leans in to hug him. 

“I’m surprised we never talked about this before.” He sounds as amazed as Yuri feels. “Then again, I thought you wouldn’t reciprocate.” 

Yuri carefully rests his hands on Otabek’s waist. 

“That’s crazy talk,” he whispers. “Of course I do. Love you, I mean. Besides, everyone already thinks we’re dating.” 

“Do you want to prove them right?” 

For the first time in a while, Yuri is prepared to admit that yes, Viktor and Katsuki had the correct idea, and he was absolutely wrong. 

For the moment, he just smiles, wraps his arms around Otabek, and thinks that no one will be surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Someone save me from writing in the present tense~~
> 
> In keeping with the tradition of naming each chapter after a song title, y'all can say this chapter title comes from [3OH!3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYC2FUutdKA) or [Prince](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H9tEvfIsDyo), or whatever you want :P
> 
> For @szmaragdrac on Tumblr. The story is cross-posted [here](https://tolstoyevskywrites.tumblr.com/post/175747742218/wow-congrats-for-50-followers-d-so-about-your). Thank you for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [tolstoyevskywrites](http://tolstoyevskywrites.tumblr.com)  
> Spotify playlists: [Otayuri](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/5i3uGBrwu9gfB9ynaOjiay) || Viktuuri: [1](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/7dtTAAISDjCfEjYoOV8IiU), [2](https://open.spotify.com/user/tolstoyevsky/playlist/36xh2sv4YN7hdNWaAgDksu?si=eS1Qh7EMQCCxmXquXaP9MA)  
> 8tracks playlists (different from the Spotify ones): [here](http://8tracks.com/airini/collections/yuri-on-ice-playlists)  
> My other YOI fics: [Autotēles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351237/chapters/35620935) || [ Someone Tell the Referee to Stop Calling Out My Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15111506/chapters/35040203) || [Stargazing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801836/chapters/31732521) || [Laurel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8871910/chapters/20340913) || [The Adventures of Yuri Plisetsky and His Lovestruck Not-Coach](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8790199/chapters/20151052) || [Breathe Easy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851813)  
> Thanks for the continued support!


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